


unbecoming

by or-ng-c-ss-dy (o_r_ng_c_ss_dy)



Category: All Elite Wrestling
Genre: Alcohol, Grinding, Heel Gentleman's Club, Kissing, M/M, Mild Angst, The Best Friends break up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:00:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23586520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/o_r_ng_c_ss_dy/pseuds/or-ng-c-ss-dy
Summary: the empty bottle hit the bottom of the trash can and he couldn't help but feel like that was it for them.
Relationships: Chuck Taylor/Orange Cassidy
Comments: 6
Kudos: 26





	unbecoming

**Author's Note:**

> couldn't resist doing this. i think that, if they ever went heel, trent would go with them but that's not how this fic worked out.
> 
> im honestly a little unsure about this one, but i liked writing it so im posting it.
> 
> enjoy!

Orange was drunk, that much was obvious. Swaying back and forth, leaning heavily against Chuck as they sat together in the locker room. He passed the half-empty bottle of Kentucky Gentleman back to Chuck, managing to slosh the cheap whiskey over both of their fingers.

“You know that we still have a match tonight, right?” Chuck asked after taking a deep drink from the mouth of the bottle.

Orange shrugged and a part of Chuck registered that their lips were touching the same place on the bottle, a sloppy indirect kiss in some ways. He had tracked the way Orange’s tongue ran over the rim, pink enough in his swimming eyes that he couldn’t help but stare. 

“Fuck it.” Orange slurred out, far too late to be a response to Chuck’s question.

He could only laugh, putting the bottle up to Orange’s mouth in a silent question. Orange leaned back in response, head tipping back into Chuck’s lap as his feet came up to rest on the bench. Chuck’s knuckles were white as he fed Kentucky Gentleman to Orange, watching the way his throat bobbed as he drank, swallowing mouthful after mouthful of shitty whiskey.

“You were always drunk during our matches back in the day,” Chuck said, and it sounded fond as he sunk fingers into blond hair, short fingernails rubbing over his scalp in a way that had Orange shivering in his lap,”we were unstoppable.”

They definitely weren’t, but he certainly felt unstoppable with Orange at his side. After what Trent did to them, it was easy to sink back into their old ways. The deal was sweetened with a pliant Orange Cassidy practically purring in his lap. 

Trent had gotten a taste for those singles matches, leaving him and Orange behind as he decided to go on his own. It pissed him off and it pissed Orange off, who knew him less than Chuck did, but knew that their friendship meant a hell of a lot to Chuck. 

Trent made him want to be good. And, now that he was climbing the singles ranks by himself, Chuck couldn’t find it in himself to be good anymore. 

It was easy to bring Orange over to his side, there was no doubt in his mind that Orange would follow without even needing to be coaxed. No matter how hard they tried to be good, they weren’t good people. It had been simmering, beneath the hugs and the ringside antics, the cracks had started to show.

They weren’t the Best Friends, not anymore. Hell, maybe they never were, no matter how Trent still looked at him like they were still fine or some bullshit like that. Or like what they used to have mattered after the dust settled, like he needed Trent or some bullshit like that.

He had the heavy, warm weight of a drunk Orange in his lap, nuzzling up to his crotch, he didn’t need Trent. They were the Gentleman’s Club now, had a new song and everything, pyro and shit. It was badass too, made them look like they were a threat.

And they were a threat. Who knew that plying Orange with alcohol like he used to back in the day would make him as lethal as it used to be, keeping him at a healthy buzz was enough to wake him up. 

His fingers skated up Orange’s shirt as he planned his revenge against Trent, sliding over his toned stomach almost absentmindedly. He figured that he couldn’t commit literal, actual murder, but he was planning on hurting him regardless. Trent still hadn’t accepted his challenge though, no matter how many times he offered it.

PAC once hurt someone that Kenny Omega cared about to get him into a fight but...well...Trent really had no one those days. He used to have Orange, he used to have _him_ , but now Chuck and Orange only had each other while Trent was all alone.

A part of him wondered if he would even come if he hurt Orange. If he broke that pretty face, made him bleed. Chuck carded his fingers through Orange’s hair, returning the bottle to his lips yet again. His eyes fluttered behind shut eyelids, lashes quivering. He was flushed and shaking in Chuck’s lap, one eyelid cracking open to look at him with an unfocused blue eye.

“Chuck…” He mumbled when Chuck finally pulled the bottle away from his lips.

Chuck’s eyes tracked a stray droplet, setting the bottle aside to drag his thumb over it. He pressed it against Orange’s lips until he parted them, letting Chuck push it into his mouth. The tongue that ran over his thumb was hot and wet, making him shiver and groan softly.

“Good,” he said, voice soft and breathy, “what’s up, babe?”

A part of him thought that he might tug Orange over, fuck up into that hot little mouth right there in the locker room. He was half-hard from watching him tongue fuck the end of the bottle, and he wasn’t too drunk to get it up like Orange probably was. Probably wouldn’t have been the first time that the AEW locker rooms had seen that sort of action, and Orange was certainly drunk enough to go along with it.

“Y’think Trent misses us?” Orange asked, slurring his words and effectively killing the mood.

Chuck scowled, finger tightening in his hair hard enough to make Orange hiss softly.

“Who cares?” He said, snatching the bottle up again.

He pressed it against Orange’s lips, forcing him to drink more despite the green-ish tinge to his skin. Anything to shut the asshole up, even if it was going to make him sick before their match. They could use it to their advantage if he puked all over the canvas anyway, it would be a hell of a surprise. A gross one, but it could work. Kind of like how Orange used to spit orange juice at people back in the day.

Nah, that’d be a little too gross. His nose wrinkled at the thought of it and he pulled the bottle away from Orange to take a swig of it himself. 

The idea of the orange juice, though, that had some merit.

“You ever think about bringing back the juice?” Chuck asked after a few moments, hand moving from Orange’s hair to curl his fingers lightly around his throat.  
“Nah. It’s a DQ.”

Chuck laughed at that, grinning broadly down at Orange. His thumb stroked over a bruise on the column of his neck, one that he had left a few nights back. Neither of them bothered to hide the marks they left on each other’s skin, they didn’t care enough to be shy about the new angle of their relationship.

“You think I’d let them DQ us? I’d take care of the ref while you do your thing, don’t worry about that.”

Orange seemed to consider it. Either that, or it took a little too long to process from how wasted he was.

“Can I put some vodka in it?” He said and Chuck laughed, squeezing slightly around his throat.  
“Of course. Just remember to spit it, don’t just suck it all down in the middle of the match.”

They were better off without Trent, he just...got in the way. So it was better, a haze of alcohol and yellow overhead lighting blurring his vision of Orange’s handsome face in his lap. A fuzz of a halo around him, but neither of them were anything close to angels.

Still, he looked like he could’ve been one at some point. But they were never good, and that was the problem with trying to play as anything close to morally upstanding.

Chuck leaned down at the same time Orange moved up, licking the taste of cheap whiskey and cheaper orange juice out of his mouth. It was a filthy kiss, his hand still on Orange’s neck and the sound of people clearing their throats around them. Like their opinions mattered or something, he slipped Orange some extra tongue because of it, pulling him up by the throat to straddle his lap.

He let himself get lost in the kiss and the way Orange’s body felt against his, cupping his hip with the hand that wasn’t still resting on his neck. Orange’s own hands moved over his body, one sliding into his hair, the other on his shoulder.

A startled, familiar gasp cut through the silence of the locker room. Chuck cracked an eye open to look in the flushed face of Trent. He moved his hand down and cupped Orange’s ass, letting a smirk spread across his lips. Orange moaned into his mouth, oblivious to the new person watching them. He coaxed Orange into grinding against him, feeling the beginnings of a very hard-fought erection stirring in Orange’s jeans.

Trent looked like he was at a loss for words, face flushed as he tried to look at anything but the show they were putting on. Chuck tucked his hand in Orange’s back pocket, sliding him down to sit on the bulge at the front of his trousers, grinding up against his ass.

“What do you want?” He said, breaking the kiss.

Orange let out a soft whine, like he was going to tell Chuck exactly what he wanted him to do, until he noticed that Chuck was looking over his shoulder. Instead, he tucked his face into Chuck’s shoulder and began to mouth at his neck, looking to leave some matching bruises. Trent looked more than a little lost, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, like he had forgotten why he had come to see them.

“You’re...uh. You’re on next, you need to go.” He said, not meeting his eyes.  
“Guess we’ll have to pick this up later then,” Chuck said in response, drawing his hand back and letting it crack against Orange’s ass, “c’mon, babe, let’s go kick some ass.”

Orange slid out of his lap, tucking himself under Chuck’s arm as he stood. It was mostly to hold himself up, partially for the closeness as he eyed Trent over his shades with a slight sneer on his face.

Standing across from Trent, he could remember what had happened as clear as day. When Trent decided that he had taken things too far, when the match ended and Chuck just kept going.

It hadn’t been his fault. They had gone after Orange, had put him out, made him _bleed_. It was just retribution, especially when they went after Trent next. Proud and Powerful were ruthless, they couldn’t stand up against them if they just sat to the side and let them do whatever the hell they wanted.

Chuck ended up with the pin, but it didn’t matter. Not when he had caught the sight of Orange’s battered little face, bleeding all over his shirt and jacket. The hours he’d spend trying to get the blood out, they wouldn’t be worth it if Chuck just stood aside and did nothing.

What the fuck was he supposed to do? What kind of best friend would he be if he just let them beat the shit out of Trent and Orange without stopping them? 

And, if the only way they were going to respond was through violence? So be it.

He still remembered the way it felt to have Trent pull him off of Ortiz right before his boot made contact with his nose, robbed of the chance to see that violent red splatter everywhere. Robbed of his chance for revenge for Orange, he turned and pushed Trent back.

Chuck knew that he wasn’t fine, but...but seeing Trent across the room? It brought it all back, and he reached for the bottle that they left on the bench to take a deep swig of it, throwing his free arm over Orange’s shoulder and dragging him in even closer.

Orange hung off of him, seemingly uncaring as he lazily reached for the bottle. Chuck let him take it, eyes still on Trent because he really was at a loss for words. A small part of him wanted to forgive Trent, a larger part knew that Trent didn’t think he needed to be forgiven. That Chuck had been the one to fuck up, and that was why they couldn’t say anything.

They could say what the other wanted to hear. Or they could just move on without each other, a part of each other’s lives that were in the past. But Chuck still wanted his revenge, and he frowned, pushing past Trent.

“Chuck, I-” Trent started, cutting himself off when Orange pushed the bottle into his hands.  
“Save it for when I kick your ass in the ring.” Chuck sneered, shouldering past him.

They left him in the locker room, cradling the now-fully-empty bottle of Kentucky Gentleman. He couldn’t stop to think about consequences or closure or even revenge, although that was always on his mind.

He’d get his revenge. But, first, they had a match to win.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! follow me on tumblr if you want, @ [ or-ng-c-ss-dy](https://or-ng-c-ss-dy.tumblr.com/), i also post my fics there.


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